Fragility
by Maeve of Winter
Summary: When Dan is hurt yet again after becoming involved in one of Trixie's adventures, Regan finds himself questioning his own abilities as a parent.


Dan could barely drag himself up the garage steps, and Regan was sure to keep an arm wrapped firmly around his waist even as he unlocked the door, pushing it open with his shoulder so they could move inside.

"You doing all right?" Regan asked, looking at Dan worriedly as he half-carried him over the threshold, kicking the door closed behind them.

Dan nodded, his face drawn and gray. "Fine." But he was trembling, and Regan suspected it was due to the effort of staying upright.

Slowly, painstakingly, Regan helped him across the living room to the second bedroom, where Dan always slept whenever he needed to spend the night. He was relieved, and no doubt Dan was, too, when they were able to make it to the bed without his condition worsening.

Once Dan was settled, he seemed to improve slightly, even offering Regan a small smile as he sat down beside him. "Thanks for the help."

Regan wanted to smile back, but as he realized that he could see where the bruises on Dan's face were already coloring, he found that he couldn't.

So he settled instead for reaching out and ruffling Dan's hair, an unexpectedly paternal gesture that surprised them both. Dan wasn't so tired that his eyebrows didn't briefly quirk upward, and Regan himself was caught off-guard as well, both by the impulse and by how natural it felt.

He didn't let on, though, instead rising from the bed to make his way into his own room. "I'll be right back," he promised, looking at Dan directly, doing his best to be reassuring. "I'm going to find you some pajamas."

Dan nodded again, not seeming to have the energy to speak but still sending Regan a grateful look. He was probably looking forward to getting out of the stiffly starched pair of scrubs that the hospital had given him to wear. His shirt had been so damaged by the attack that it had been beyond salvaging, and the rest of his clothes had been taken by the police as evidence.

As Regan entered his room and moved to the dresser, he tried to force down the anger and outrage that swelled within him at the thought of how Dan had sustained his injuries. He tried not to remember the panic and fear that had surged through him when he'd received the call from the police that there had been an incident and Dan was in the hospital while Trixie and Honey were at the police station.

It had only been art forgers this time, instead of jewel thieves, counterfeiters, or smugglers. He probably should consider himself lucky that it was more of a white collar crime—Dan would have been injured far worse by a criminal who was used to hurting people instead of just the beating and knife wounds ("superficial," the doctor had called them) he'd gotten tonight.

Still, it wasn't easy to look at Dan—who was barely able to move with his bruised ribs, who had his lip split near the corner, and who had various scrapes down almost the entire one cheek—and feel thankful for what had happened.

Rummaging in around in the drawers of his dresser, Regan was able to locate the bottom half of a pair of good flannel pajamas, but searching for the top half proved fruitless. Patience already thin, frustration rising that of course he couldn't find pajamas when it actually mattered, and very aware that Dan needed him, Regan just snagged a long-sleeved T-shirt, testing the fabric to be sure it would be soft enough, and grabbed a pair thick, cushy socks and returned to the other bedroom.

It might have been wishful thinking, but he thought Dan looked a little bit better when he returned to the room, tapping out a text on his phone and glancing up at Regan when he entered.

"I was just texting Honey and Trixie," he explained briefly. "They both got home okay."

A sharp retort was on the tip of Regan's tongue—he was beginning to lose count of the number of times Dan got roped into Honey and Trixie's mystery of the month and ended up battered and bruised while the two of them skated by without a single consequence.

But he refused the impulse to be snide. It wasn't what Dan needed right now.

Instead, Regan simply didn't respond and just offered Dan the pajamas he'd found. "Here. You can sleep in these. They're going to be big on you, but they'll be comfortable."

Dan rose to accept the clothes and Regan automatically reached out to steady him, looping an arm around his back and realizing he was unwilling to let go even as he found that Dan could stand on his own.

"You sure you're all right?" he asked, raking his gaze up and down, trying to make sure Dan was as strong as he appeared. "Are you going to be able to get changed on your own?"

"I can manage," Dan said. He shifted slightly in Regan's grip, giving a faint smile. "Gonna need you to let go, though."

Regan reluctantly stepped back, giving Dan one last glance and deciding to leave him on his own for a few minutes in spite of his worries. "Okay. I'm going to go to the kitchen and get you something to eat. I know you didn't get a chance to have anything at the hospital."

Dan shook his head. "You don't have to do that. I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat," Regan said firmly, giving Dan's slim shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You get changed, and I'll bring you something when you're done."

It didn't take long to fix Dan a turkey and provolone sandwich—he might have failed to protect Dan or give him a proper pair of pajamas, but at least he'd gone grocery shopping just the other day.

Knowing that Dan hated sugary drinks, Regan skipped the lemonade and instead poured a tall glass of ice water, carrying both it and the plate back to the room. With a bit of juggling, he managed to knock on the door.

"Dan? You ready?" he called.

There was no answer, no response of any kind.

Frantically, Regan pushed open the door, his pulse racing and his heart in his throat as he feared he might find the worst. And after a momentary jolt at finding Dan sprawled out on the bed, he realized that his nephew was fine—he'd just fallen asleep on top of the covers.

With a sigh of relief, Regan placed the plate with the sandwich and water glass on the bedside table and carefully sat down beside Dan, taking pains to make sure he didn't disturb him. For a moment, he simply watched him, unable not to notice how much younger and more vulnerable he looked when he was asleep. Regan had often thought Dan seemed older than his fifteen years, with a cynical glint in his ice blue eyes and a frequently sarcastic twist to his smile telling of how he'd been aged before his time. But with those traits gone for the moment, he seemed far less wayward and considerably softer. The clothes he was wearing, intended for Regan's taller and more muscular body, were far too large for his slim, wiry frame, the excess fabric pooling out around him, emphasizing his youth even further. The sight awakened something within Regan, a certain protectiveness that had first fully formed shortly after he'd become Dan's primary guardian.

Extending a hand, Regan nearly reached out to lay a palm on Dan's cheek, stopping only when it occurred to him that he would aggravate the wounds there. Catching himself, he instead just barely traced the outline of one of the band-aids, his fingers ghosting over Dan's smooth skin.

Letting out a sigh, Regan lowered his hand and closed his eyes, leaning back.

He could predict what would happen next. It had happened enough that there now was a routine. Tomorrow, Mr. and Mrs. Belden would make a point of coming over, bringing an offering of crabapple jelly or a pie or a cake or whichever one of their crops was in season, giving apologies left and right for Trixie getting Dan involved in her latest misadventure. Then in the afternoon, either Mr. or Mrs. Wheeler would stop by to apologize as well, offering a promise they had fulfilled in the past and would most assuredly keep again to cover all of Dan's medical expenses. If they were away, they would send Miss Trask, who had no doubt already updated them on the situation.

All parents concerned would swear they'd talk to their daughter and that nothing of the sort would ever happen again. Except it would, and then Dan would be right back here, spending the night at Regan's garage apartment because he was too injured to go back to Mr. Maypenny's woodland cabin.

Dan let out a sharp, pained exhale in his sleep, likely putting pressure on one of his numerous injuries, and Regan tensed, preparing to comfort him if he did wake up. But Dan didn't stir, continuing to leave Regan alone with his thoughts.

When he'd brought Dan to Sleepyside, it was because he'd been worried Dan would end up hurt or killed if he continued to live on the street as a juvenile delinquent. It had been no life for a high school kid. But even in his worry for the last living member of his family, Regan hadn't had the luxury of being able to ignore the ramifications Dan's situation would have on his own position, so he'd arranged for Dan to be sent out to the woods, away from the other residents of Glen Road. He'd been nervous about how Dan would influence the other kids in the neighborhood, especially the Bob-Whites, but he'd been more nervous about how the kids' parents would think Dan was influencing their children, especially the parents of the Bob-Whites.

And yet, now that Dan was a Bob-White, Regan couldn't help but wonder about how Dan was being influenced by them. How many times would he be dragged along into danger because of his friendships? How many times would Regan get calls from the hospital or the police telling him that Dan had been injured? When would it end? Would it end?

He didn't know, and that bothered him. For all intents and purposes, he was Dan's parent. He was responsible for him.

And no responsible parent would knowingly allow their kid to hang out with friends who put the kid in danger again and again.

Even after Dan had been invited into the Bob-Whites, Regan had thought Dan would be the source of concern to other parents. He'd never thought he would be the one to worry that Dan's friendships with the Bob-Whites weren't good for him.

Regan liked the Bob-Whites. A lot, actually. They were great kids.

But he liked them less and found it hard to remember how great he thought they were every time Dan staggered back home with more and more injuries.

And what could he do about it, really? Those kids were Dan's friends. He couldn't separate him from them. Not only would it be difficult simply due to location—everyone in the Glen Road area was always involved in each others' business, for better or for worse—but there were personal politics to consider. He couldn't forbid Dan from hanging around the Beldens or the Wheelers without creating bad blood between them and spreading hurt feelings and spurring questions about it all around.

Regan bit back a curse of frustration. Here he was, just trying to keep his family safe, and he couldn't even manage to do that.

Dan shifted again in his sleep, and Regan couldn't suppress a worry that he was cold. Standing, he gently tugged the folded blanket at the foot of the bed out from underneath Dan's legs and took care to spread it across his body, making sure he was entirely covered. Realizing he should leave his nephew to rest, he gave him one last touch on the shoulder before quietly leaving the room and making his way to the fridge to extract a bottle of Wild Turkey. And after pouring himself a glass of the whiskey, he sank down onto the couch, trying to determine what to do to prevent Dan's life from being endangered every other week.

Given his options, Regan knew whatever choice he would arrive at would prove a tough one.

But then, he mused, sipping his drink, parenting was full of difficult decisions.


End file.
